Being Hermione
by CatChewer
Summary: Hermione gets rather depressed, to the point that she is even letting her grades drop! (Shock horror)


Authors Notes: I know I should really be writing on my other fanfic, but after an espresso and some blink 182, I got this really great idea to write after reading several happy Hermione stories. (I hate happy endings ;) B e warned, people who like Hermione and don't want to think of her as weak, or hates reading about suicides, shouldn't read this. (lol, ppl who read my other story probably see a lot of repetition here). Btw, I thought of making this a one off, but if people really like it (hint hint, I want lots of reviews hehehe), I wouldn't mind continuing it!  
  
Nothing here is original but the plot...so don't sue me, plz!  
  
-*-*-*-  
  
Hermione carefully placed the razor, which she had magically sharpened with her wand, next to the huge prefect's bathtub. Her legs had been in need of a shave for a good week now. She filled the bath with hot and perfumed soapy water, and lowered herself into the inviting bubbles and steam, allowing the warmth of the water to slowly seep into her cold muscles, relaxing them. She sighed audibly. She was in total privacy, having put a series of wards on the door. She stared at the wall opposite her, her elbows propped up on the edge of the bathtub.  
  
The last cutting words of Malfoy's taunts had affected her more deeply than anytime before. She had needed to get away from everyone fast, finding refuge in here. She figured it was the stress of the N.E.W.T's coming up, and Hermione had been extra sensitive to any sort of insult lately. Although she had pretended to ignore Malfoy's comment, it had hurt her in her already mentally fragile state. She had asked the monk in the painting guarding the bathroom to allow no one to enter, and to make doubly sure, she had added locking charms all around the entrance. She needed thinking time alone. She allowed her thoughts to drift to when she had first discovered that she was a witch, when the letter from Hogwarts had stated that she was legible to start studying here. Later, Professor McGonagall had come to fetch her, as her dentist parents couldn't have gotten her into Diagon alley to buy her supplies, as well as being terrified of the letter being a really sick prank, and had interrogated her about whether or not she recognized the handwriting on the letter. Even if her parents had now accepted the whole magic world thing, they still feared magic.  
  
Professor McGonagall had smoothed things over, performed some harmless spells to assure her parents and gently ease them into accepting the parallel world of witches and wizards. Hermione had immediately been intrigued by this, and had stared avidly at the wand that was in Professor McGonagall's hand, as it sprouted flowers from the end and made objects fly around the room. Hermione smiled as she remembered how she had felt that she had had no knowledge of this strange world, and immediately thirsted to know more. And how wonderful it had felt when she had held her wand for the first time, how the sparks were conjured out of thin air! The wonderfully warm feeling of performing magic for the first time. Although Hermione still felt this even at the age of seventeen every time she performed magic, the novelty had rubbed off a bit, instead allowing space for the awful prejudices that had been put against her since the day she had stepped into Hogwarts.  
  
Hermione moved on to acknowledge how lonely she had felt when first she had come to the school, and then the troll incident in her first year, and how she had found her two best friends in that way. Her first ever really good friends. She had always been lonely before, in the muggle world too. She had no trouble adapting to the wizarding world because of this. She had always been bullied for being a goody-goody, but that hardly came close to the constant torment that she suffered from witches and wizards that loathed her for her muggle parentage.  
  
The name "Mudblood" waved through her mind.  
  
Her eyebrows creased involuntarily, and she felt hot tears running down her face and into the steaming water of the bath, making small holes through the foam. She remembered when she had first heard that scalding name, from no other than Malfoy, in her second Hogwarts year. Ron had attempted to hex Malfoy, and even if he failed to do so; Hermione had been deeply moved by his action. In fact, she had been rather taken to him after that, a little schoolgirl crush which had developed into something more complex after their shared near death experience in the department of mysteries in fifth year. It had forced them both into the hospital wing together, where there was little to do but talk to each other.  
  
But Ron had been running around with Lavender, the slut, ever since the beginning of sixth year. Hermione had tried getting over this by keeping her mind on work, as she always had before. But even her studies hadn't saved her from feeling hurt and heartbroken. If only she had told him of her feelings before now! Well, it was too latenow...  
  
"Stupid git" she thought. Of course he's so superficial, what was I expecting? Stupid ignorant git. But, justifiably, Lavender was definitely prettier than her, and definitely had more time to be with Ron, as she hardly took her studies seriously. Just Ron's type. Hermione smirked at this. She took a deep breath and sank her head into the bath water, allowing it to dissolve her tears. She surfaced again, rubbing some of the foam into her hair, before propping her elbows onto the edge of the bathtub again.  
  
"Bloody everything." Hermione muttered. Why was she how she was? Why did she cut herself away from society the way she did? Why was she incapable of any intimate relationship with anyone? Her studies didn't satisfy that gap in her life. Why was she different? It would be nice to not be known as "Mudblood Granger" for a while. Must be nice being a pureblood...  
  
She lit up a fag which she had collected (with her wand) from her robes. It calmed her nerves a bit.  
  
Stupid prejudices, created by ignorant people." She bit out. Insecure gits who have a need to feel superior. People judged her before they got to know her. She was well aware that hadn't it been for the troll incident in her first year, she would probably still be alone in her own little world of books and notes, and Ron wouldn't even have noticed her. Well, she reasoned, he still doesn't notice her now, just hangs around with her. Harry and Ron hardly knew her besides the fact that she was a studious bookworm that apparently considered expulsion a more severe punishment that death. She dipped herself into the bath so that the water was right underneath her nose.  
  
"Tonight" She thought inwardly "I'm going to prove that theory wrong." She glanced at the newly sharpened razor next to her, just beyond the reach of her fingers. She sighed, and swam over to it. She picked it up roughly, not really acknowledging the pain that it caused when it cut into the delicate skin of her hand. She was going to do this properly. This'll show them. This'll show them all. She was doing this the muggle way, no magic. The magic world had done nothing for her but cause her more pain, adding to the list of labels to her, more than when she had had in the muggle world. She was now muggle- born Granger, ugly, antisocial, know-it-all Granger, as Malfoy put so delicately. She had been so for the past seven years. Anyway, she started her life a muggle; why not let it end in the same fashion?  
  
Her thoughts formed the face of Harry.  
  
"Poor Harry." She thought. He had probably been through even more than her, but people liked him at least. Wanted to know him. Actually, they already knew him. He was after all the famous boy who lived. Hardly anyone would have heard of Hermione Granger, who had had to work hard for any recognition. But even top marks in all her studies wouldn't satisfy her anymore. In fact, it made teachers expect better of her. Her grades had started to uncharacteristically slip lately, panicking most teachers as the N.E.W.T's drew nearer. She found it funny how the teachers would interrogate her about her feeling all right. If everything was fine. At least it was some sort of attention. "Yeah well, screw them" She muttered darkly. If only someone thought of her as something else bedsides muggle-born, bookworm Granger, who scored perfect marks every time, who the teachers needn't bother about because she could take care of her grades by herself. Even McGonagall paid less attention to her in class, even if she grasped advanced methods of transfiguration faster than anyone else in the class. She remembered in third year when Snape had called her an "insufferable know-it-all."  
  
Why had she made herself do predictable? Everyone expected her to do well. No one really bothered to notice her any more. Why didn't anyone really, genuinely like her, care for her?  
  
She sighed. Even her parents had kept their distance from her ever since they had found out she was a witch. They were terrified of the magic, she could tell. And she was a rather powerful witch too.  
  
She smiled weakly. She was feeling rather drugged, as she had just swallowed a whole vial of calming potion before making her way up to the prefects bathroom. She had been drinking that a lot, to keep her feelings at bay, as they had started reaching explosion point recently. She had told Madam Pomfrey that stress was the reason she needed so much of the potion, and she briefly wondered if she had become addicted to it. Ron and Harry hadn't noticed any of these uncharacteristic changes in her.  
  
Oh my God! Hermione is letting her grades slip? Before N.E.W.T's? No way! That would be the gossip of the week for Hogwarts. Bloody bunch of idiots.  
  
Damn it; she had even started the dirty muggle habit of smoking, as rebellious as she had been getting lately. She just wanted to let go.  
  
She imagined what Ron would be saying this if he ever found out about any of her newfound nasty habits. Of course she had been careful to hide all of this, even if deep down she actually wanted someone to notice her strangled plea for help. She was too proud to directly admit to anyone that she felt insecure.  
  
She drew her eyes dreamily off the blank wall opposite her, and looked down at the bathwater, watching the blood from her hand dissolve into the water, making the blue-white foam turn a slight pink.  
  
Well, at least she was pleasing the bloody purebloods as well as herself. Another mudblood taken care of.  
  
She carefully picked up the sharp razor, and drew a long, almost perfectly straight line, along the length of her left forearm.  
  
One, she counted, for being a witch so that her parents didn't love her anymore.  
  
She switched hands. She pulled the razor awkwardly down her right arm, her unpracticed left hand attempting a similar straight line.  
  
Two, for being muggle-born, a dirty mudblood, unworthy of being a witch.  
  
She switched hands again, frowning with grim satisfaction at the sight of the ever-reddening water.  
  
Three, for Harry, who everyone recognizes without him ever having to work for it.  
  
She was getting dizzy now. She felt her brain started to shut down. Her pale, shaking hands dropped the razor, where it sank to the bottom of the tub. She took a slight breath, and swam down to get it. As she surfaced, she noticed she could hardly breathe. Her lungs felt closed and airless. Taking shallow breaths, she cut into her left forearm again.  
  
Four, for that worthless git Ron, for not knowing her as anything else but his source of answers for his homework...  
  
She noticed blurrily that someone had broken through the wards of the bathroom door. She noticed briefly fiery red hair, as someone streaked in, straight for her.  
  
She closed her eyes, suddenly drowsy, wanting to sleep. She sank into the bathtub, not bothering to struggle as her lungs screamed for air. The numbing soreness of her forearms was forgotten. She heard a distant shout, someone pulling her roughly out of the water, someone vaguely slapping her face, an attempt to revive her. She smiled softly. "This'll show them..." was her last thought before she blacked out.  
  
-*-*-*-  
  
Author's notes: Like it, hate it? Plz review! I accept evil reviews too, coz then I know what the public wants! Did I have too much detail? I always wondered how Hermione had got so far with everyone constantly reminding her of her muggle parentage... 


End file.
